


muscle memory

by girchy



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27813796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girchy/pseuds/girchy
Summary: Shai's life is a wreck and her brain is no exception. In an effort to turn things around, she takes a trip to nowhere in particular. Intending to breathe air into the lungs of her career, she's hoping for something refreshing that will recharge her motivation. But then she meets Mona.





	muscle memory

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing stuff, so I did just that and produced some self-indulgent ramblings that fall into repetitive stylistic iterations but they were cathartic to create nonetheless. I hope someone has as much fun reading these lego stacks of words as I had writing them. I might continue the story. one day. to be fully transparent (like the perfectly cleaned window that I strive to be), I probably will. eventually. until then, have fun :)

Hours of typing, gone, and for what? For a few words devoid of real content. Limp, over-boiled noodles dipped in ranch and served in a fancy dish.

Her stomach growled to add to her rising discomfort. 

With a head full of many ideas, it should be easy to create something, but when it came to actually writing--pen to paper, fingers to keys--there was nothing. A specific strain of writer’s block more accurately dubbed “writer’s inability” plagued Shai. 

She couldn’t recall the topic of her writing. She was lost in a maze of nonsense being chased by an insane centaur called a deadline with nothing to aid her in her fight for survival.

People talk about writer's block like it's a curable affliction. A tangible issue that can be resolved with a little rest and medication, but, really, there is no anodyne. The compounding frustration only makes it worse and stepping away feels like a betrayal to the craft. She continued click-clacking nonsense and jumbles of incoherency but got nowhere. A tipped over toy train along the tracks that could not be lifted nor remedied would be more effective. 

Why do people ride stationary bikes? Sure, for exercise, but how can someone stand to pour out gallons of effort and spin their legs around and around for more than five minutes? Shai only vaguely remembered the definition of insanity, but she was sure this was something close to it. Thoughts like this made her consider that humanity was little more than a few people trapped in a dumpster.

Her phone buzzed once from an unknown place amidst her papers, pens, and laptop. Then it continued buzzing. A call.

She started shifting all her items, searching under everything in a race to find the source of the vibrations before it ceased. It was a pleasant distraction from what she was doing. If she already had her phone in her hand, then she could order takeout as soon as she was done with whatever this call was about.

She eventually located her phone, hidden behind the monitor of her laptop. She looked at the screen and saw “Lukas” in bright letters. She swiped to answer the phone with the few seconds she had left before Lukas would be sent down the swirly slide to voicemail. 

“Hello?”

Shai heard Lukas exhale on the other end of the line. He already sounded exasperated. That was an unfortunate sign, like the slightly sour smell of milk that makes you question the quality and wonder what the date is.

“Hey, Shai. I’m just checking in. I wanted to see how the manuscripts were coming along.”

Oh, those things. “I finished a few hours ago. The narrative was a little incoherent and the sentences were overcrowded, but I managed to clean it up a bit. I’m sending it back tomorrow morning.” 

Though she couldn’t see it, Lukas was smiling on the other end of the line. “Great. Ok then. Did you check the naming issue?”

Shai sighed, using every fiber in her being to repress all sound. “Yes, I did. There wasn’t much to fix there.”

“I was also concerned about the thematic enclave of the second part. Have you looked at that yet?” Lukas had a predilection for long, overly-complex words that he believed highlighted his intelligence. Sometimes people think they need to embellish their thoughts with eloquent language as if carefully selected diction makes their statements more valid or worth hearing. It annoyed Shai, but she also respected it.

She readied herself. It was going to be one of these calls. She was now waltzing around the room, her mind searching for a subject to speak to and eyes to make contact with. She looked throughout the space at whatever she could: a table near the door with too many keys scattered across the surface, dead succulents in the kitchen that were given as gifts from friends and had grown dry and wrinkled with age, and an untouched but immaculately organized spice rack. Her vision settled upon the already rumbling tea kettle. A little hot leaf juice would be perfect to soothe her throat, which was already growing weary from saying “yes, I did.” There was more to come.

“Yes, I have. I need to contact the author to confirm that the changes and interpretations are appropriate. I will call him tomorrow morning,” she said as she walked to the kitchen to fill a mug with boiling water and a teabag. She poured as she talked before lifting the cup and walking back to her table. She sat in her white, plastic chair again with her phone tucked between her head and her shoulder as she set the mug on the table, a mere 3.74 inches away from her computer.

Shai started dashing her fingers across the keyboard and moving her cursor to close her writing tabs and open her email. Lukas spoke up, saying, “Great. Can you fax the documents to me? I want to check them as well.”

Shai exhaled. Again. “I don’t have a fax machine, but I can figure something out. I can send scans. The chapters are shorter this time, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Flustered. That was the best way to describe how Shai felt at the moment. It felt like Lukas was standing behind her, eyes glaring at her screen to scrutinize what she was doing and how she wasn’t doing it well enough.

“Ok, just email the images to me,” Lukas replied, seemingly calm and not at all disturbed by the inconvenience he was causing. His obliviousness was always refreshing and seemingly never-ending.

Shai wasn’t even sure why anyone would submit paper documents for review. It was an act of treason for modern writers.

“I will immediately.” Shai moved her hand to grab her mug, gliding it slightly above the surface of her keys. With tea in one hand and her phone still nestled in the crevice created between her head and her shoulder, Shai began typing, responding to emails, and preparing to send files. 

Then bang. 

Brown liquid the color of fish tank water that was steeped in the fecal matter of its inhabitants poured across the table in a massive tsunami, consuming everything in its wake. “Fuck.”

Shai almost laughed at her misfortune and the abundant irony of the situation that existed in the drink’s destructive capabilities. Water, the source of all life, would be the start of her demise. Papers, notepads and one fortunately inexpensive laptop were soaked beyond recognition and function.

“What was that, Shai?”

“Oh, nothing. I will send everything in a minute.”

“Very good. Don’t forget, it’s all due Monday so I’ll need to review it as soon as possible. Also, don’t forget that we have a meeting tomorrow at noon.” 

“Oh, yeah, thanks. I’ll see you then.”

“Goodnight, Shai,”

“Bye, Lukas.”

Shai hung up the phone, still holding in the slowly growing rage that brewed below the surface. Her heart began to beat more furiously as her anger started to manifest physically. She couldn’t decide if she was angrier toward Lukas for distracting her, her lack of three hands that limited her ability to hold more items, or the personification of stupidity in her human form. The sweet oxymoron of her infallible blunders. “Fuck,” she said again with a little more volume. Screw it, she was alone in her apartment now. Who was going to complain, the dead plants? The frumpy rug? Not likely. “FUCK,” she roared.

She had only scraped together rent for the past few months after paying for meals with coworkers and overspending on tempting groceries like an idiot. It was ridiculous, in theory and in reality. She wasn’t going to turn her life around and become a superhuman writer and creator because she invested in the health properties of radish consumption. What was she going to do with five pounds of the vegetable anyway? 

Her spending habits didn’t matter now. Those things had already been done, solidified in the past. The current issue, her wrecked pile of stationary and technology, needed to be addressed. After releasing the piss-baby dragon that dwelled inside, Shai set to work.

Shai scanned the manuscripts on her phone and emailed them to her boss, as she said she would, once the mess was entering phase one of clean-up: soaking the liquid up with every absorbent material in the vicinity. 

Several towels later, Shai had dried most of the papers and moved on to her computer. The two stared at each other, eyes narrow and unblinking like cowboys in an old western. Shai was the first to act.

Pushing the power button proved to be a futile effort. Repairing technology could not be counted among Shai’s narrow list of expertise. She and her computer were dancing the tango in a panicked daze.

For now, her phone would be sufficient to handle business. She had already finished her work and had only the meeting left this weekend, which she had been prepared for long before. On Monday, after dropping off the manuscripts at the office, she could bring her computer to the repair shop down the street. If that failed, there was a technology store that was only a ten-minute bus ride away. 

Shai considered finding a container to fill with rice for her computer to sit in, but she didn’t have anything large enough and she wasn’t willing to sacrifice that much rice.

Once things had been taken care of, Shai relaxed a little. A semblance of order was restored. 

Suddenly, Shai felt a deep yet subtle twinge in her gut. 

Her writing. 

Shai was clever, so everything, which wasn’t much yet, had been completed on a google doc. Everything was safe.

Still, Shai knew a sign when she saw one. There wasn’t a single shrine in her apartment and she had never once attended a ceremony for anything that wasn’t academic, but Shai saw the tornado that burst through her rock quarry as an omen from whatever higher power existed.

All at once, Shai decided to temporarily drop the book. To pause and think things through. Perhaps less of a drop and more of a delicate placement away from center stage, like switching the discs on a console. 

Then, Shai walked toward her bedroom, placed a worn bag on her tragically dressed twin bed, and began placing carefully folded stacks of clothes inside.

\-----

Five phone calls, ten minutes of packing, eight hours of sleep, and one too-brief meeting later, Shai was in the car, hurtling toward a fate she did not yet know. To her, the circumstances were poetic. It was a once in a lifetime situation that would set her on the course of a new life. Twenty years from now, she would look upon this time and fondly reminisce about the person she used to be. The person she is now.

The car was hot. Extremely hot. The air conditioner was on but to no avail. She was riding a solar flair with bedazzled chaps and an uncomfortable amount of deodorant crammed under her arms. At least she would smell pleasant. 

Shai wished she could speed. She wished she could approach something near 100 kph, something insane and risky, but her body would not allow it. When her brain told her to let loose and slam down on the pedal, her feet denied the request. “We have no choice but to be morally proper.” Screw you, she thought. Her body did not need to betray her right now, not like the rest of the world. Her demons were chasing her and they were riding segways at ultra-speed. Life was the autobahn and she was blasting Caramelldansen through busted speakers.

Peering out the window to her left, Shai saw sedimentary deposits that comprised the sturdy foundations of a mountain. To her right, she saw the same thing: nothing but rocks. She was trapped between the walls of a deep ravine.

It was beautiful. Sparse foliage speckled the scene like the coat of a calico cat. The absence of other humans was a lovely bonus as well. 

Minutes passed and gave way to hours. Shai drove with no sign of stopping. She paused only once for gas at a tucked-away station. Sharpie-covered cardboard parading as pseudo-neon lights welcomed her. “Open” it screamed in its hardly-visible scrawl under the light of a single lamppost.

An old woman was working at the register; she made the cash-only transaction a breeze. Despite the slower pace, she was kind and didn’t ask any questions when Shai huffed into the station, grabbed two bags of gummy worms, and stormed up to the counter saying, “I would like to pay now, please. Number 8.” Shai could appreciate people like that.

When the clock approached 5:50 (the digital numbers on her stereo claimed it was the sultry hour of 5:47, a lawless time), Shai decided that she had been driving for long enough. Whatever she saw next, whether it be a simple cottage, a luxury hotel, or the gate to hell, she would stop and she would seek lodging. At this point, she wasn’t sure which of the three she preferred.

Another hour passed before she saw a building. As she proceeded toward it, it, rather unusually, became more difficult to decipher exactly what it was. There was a main house surrounded by two greenhouses and a shed. There was a great deal of open space in between every structure. The whole thing looked like the typical description of an atom. Mostly open space and everything surrounding a positively-charged, lively core. 

A farm. It was a farm. Shai wasn’t sure how she managed to overlook something so simple.

Shai turned off the main road onto a worn dirt path and approached the house. She was looking for a place to park and a person to talk to. By the time she had stumbled across this place, Shai had only had two cups of coffee, a bowl of leftover pasta, and two bags of gummy worms all day. To state it simply, she was feeling a little peckish. If she had any hope of finding food, she would need to find somewhere to stay and kindly interrogate a local about any potential restaurant candidates.

When she reached the front of the home--a weathered, baby blue farmhouse with two noble floors and plenty of character--Shai decided to park next to a truck at rest near the entrance. She jumped out of her car and walked toward the door. She knocked. Then she knocked again. There was no answer. Then, for good measure, she knocked one more time with a little more gusto. Still no answer.

She debated walking away. She could return home and enjoy a calm stay-cation (what an awful word) full of television binges and too much time doing nothing. It might be nice to slow down a bit rather than rushing with inspired motivation (or fury) toward nothing. Working too hard was a habit, but habits are meant to be challenged or at least questioned.

Having traveled so far and because she already spent forty-eight dollars on gas, Shai wanted to look around before leaving. To see every minutia of the place and study it with a careful eye. She hoped that stopping to smell the roses or whatever was growing there might begin her journey of psychological introspection and “calming down.” With sandals on her feet and a scarcity of preparedness in her pockets, she walked toward the first greenhouse.

As Shai approached the door, she could see that it was already cracked open. There was a good reason for this. It was nearly impossible to shimmy it any further or to close it. Whatever state it rested in was the way it was meant to be.

She barely managed to squeeze her body through the frame and step inside. Shai stumbled over the large stone crammed in the door space, nearly falling on her face in the process and driving dirt under her toenails that would never come out, no matter how much scrubbing she did.

Sunlight begrudgingly shone in through the windows, but any ray or beam was undermined by a shimmering glow at the center of the greenhouse. An honorary sun itself. A young girl with cropped, dirty blonde hair turned to face Shai. A glittering smile was painted across her face. 

All around her, rows of vibrant green strawberry plants filled the space.

She was the greatest source of warmth and brightness in the place, like an old incandescent lightbulb. Or maybe she wasn’t. It could have been an illusion, but Shai wasn’t sure. Shai was tired and woozy from driving, so anything beyond the confines of her car presented a certain level of comfort.

When the light settled, Shai could see delicate dimples surrounding soft lips and two blue eyes seated on a hill of freckles. She exhaled one firm “humph” of a breath. The girl looked like the textbook definition of adorable. An anthropomorphic bunny plastered with glitter. She was beautiful. Objectively, subjectively, whatever adverb you attach, it was undeniable.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

Despite the fact that people normally talk when they are in the same space and meeting each other for the first time, Shai wasn’t expecting any coherent form of language to come from the ethereal being. She didn’t know what to say so she didn’t say anything.

“Oh, sorry. It’s a little noisy in here. Is there anything I can help you with?”

The brief moment of silence allowed Shai to recollect herself. She weakly prepared an answer and strung together a series of words in an effort to explain everything. “Um, yeah. Hi. Sorry. I’ve been on the road for a few hours. I was just looking for a place to stay for the night, or maybe a restroom, but the farm was so nice so I couldn’t help but wander around a bit. Anyway, sorry for rambling. Do you know of any places nearby with rooms to stay in or anything?”

The words “flawless execution” echoed in her brain in a sarcastic tone. She wasn’t normally this ridiculous or incapable of speaking. She felt like her tongue was on fire as she attempted to plead God for forgiveness. It was a disaster.

However, the girl took the anecdote and question with a calm smile. She tipped her head and said, “Oh yeah, I do. You can stay here if you like. I have a small place in the back with full amenities. Huh, I never thought I would talk about this place and use the word ‘amenities.’ I sound so smart.”

Shai let out a small laugh.

This situation was resolving itself rather suspiciously. Would it be comfortable to settle on the surface of the sun without adequate SPF? What’s the harm? Her life literally (well, not literally, but the addition of literally makes the statement more hyperbolic) could not get any worse. The dumpster cube could not be compressed anymore.

“Really?” Shai asked. The atmosphere felt odd, mostly awkward, but the farm was pleasant enough and she assumed the room would be nice as well. Furthermore, she cautiously conjectured that the girl was not a serial killer. Or rather, she hoped. “Well, thanks. Ok then. How much is the room?”

The ray-of-sunlight-personified looked quizzical for a moment, squinting her eyes and pursing her lips. “Well, I’ve never really rented out a room. For one night? Twenty dollars is fine.”

“About that...how are two nights?”

Her smile emerged again. “Two nights is fine. I’ll throw in a few meals for fifty.”

“Deal,” Shai said, finally allowing her smile to make an appearance. “By the way, my name’s Shai. And you are?”

“Mona.”

“Mona. Cool.”

“Thanks. I guess I’ll show you to your room. Just give me a minute to clean up a bit and I’ll be ready.” Mona proceeded to shift tools around and place them in bins before removing her thick, brown gloves and setting them on a shelf. 

As Shai looked on, treading into “staring” territory, she considered the subtle humor in Mona’s name. A person that smiled as brightly and often as she did would only be named Mona in an upside-down parallel universe where the word happy means sad and salad is more dressing than solids.

Shai was thankful to have been invited to stay. If Mona had refused, then it would be dark already and she would be on a country road alone with an exhausted playlist and no more snacks. Shai didn’t want to think about it. She might spiral into manifesting.

As the security guards of her mind tried to forcibly remove the idea, all thoughts were abruptly halted by Mona. She gave an enthusiastic “all done, let’s go” and the pair were on their way.

Shai and Mona walked to the exit alongside each other, although Mona walked with a little more bounce than Shai, her arms swinging by her side. When they came to the door, Mona said, “I got this.”

Mona placed her hands firmly on the door, one above the handle and one below. She angled her body and flexed her arms, legs, and Shai assumed her core as well. A hard push resulted in a meager one centimeter of movement. “One more.” Another shove caused a near explosion as the door burst open and a cool breeze blew in. “There we go. I should fix that soon. Probably later. It’s a problem for future Mona.”

Shai giggled and the two stepped out into the world.

After Mona returned to the main house to grab a key and Shai stopped by her car to collect her suitcase and a small backpack full of items that alleviate boredom, they met at the front of a small building. Across the field and only 47 steps behind the main house, Shai and Mona were greeted by an old wooden door and a small, wood-framed shack. Mona unlocked the door and gently pulled it outward. She then gestured to the room beyond with one hand. Shai stepped inside and set her bags on the bed. Mona followed, shutting the door behind her.

The shack was, as expected, tiny. And hot. It was one little, balmy rectangle. There was a cot in the back left corner under a window and a mini-fridge in the back right. A round table and two chairs were in the center of the room and a worn, cozy loveseat with red velvet upholstery (the fabric, not the cake) was tucked into the corner nearest the door. To the right, there was a toilet. A camp shower rigged up with many metal wires and hooks was concealed by a curtain decorated with an image of a water buffalo. A large bucket was located below the camp shower faucet. The floor was layered with rugs of various patterns and candles were strewn across an assortment of surfaces. Furthermore, an incense holder sat on the table, unprepared and unlit.

The room looked like it had been prepared for a visit, or as though no one had ever left. Life was breathed into the space and it has yet to dissipate or run dry. The furniture was simple but contributed a sense of peace to the atmosphere. Candles are the universal symbol for unity and life, or that’s what Mona said at least.

“It isn’t much, but it works just fine for my brother when he visits. Don’t worry, I wash the sheets regularly. I can wash them again if you like.”

Shai looked around the room, soaking it all in from her vantage point in the center. This was more than she expected.

“It’s just fine. Thank you.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with or anything I can get for you. Oh, like this,” and Mona proceeded to provide a brief demonstration of how the camp shower functioned.

“Ok, I think I can do it,” Shai said. “In the worst-case scenario, I won’t shower. I won’t be here very long anyway.”

Mona chuckled and then sighed. “I suppose. Showers aren’t a necessity, not like food and water anyway. Well, I’ll leave you to get settled. Really, feel free to come and find me if you need anything at all.”

“Will do.”

A few seconds passed and Mona opened the door to leave. She halted in the door frame, turning back to look at Shai and ask, “Do you want a tour?”

With her bags already on the bed and shoes on her feet, Shai saw no reason not to. She might as well know the layout of the place that she would be staying. “Sure, why not?”

“Ok, great. Come along, then. Single file, please.” Mona joked, clearly amused with her cleverness. “You’ll need these later, so I’ll go ahead and hand them over now.” On her way out the door, Mona tossed a ring of keys to Shai.

A single key on a metal ring was joined by the presence of three key chains: a purple flip-flop, a fluffy but matted bear, and a plastic lucky cat. Shai pocketed the keys and fell in line behind Mona.

The tour was about to begin.

\-----

Post-tour Shai, sitting at the table in her room, was missing something. Contentedness. Although she was enveloped by smells and sights, her surroundings felt peripheral. Aside from herself. The whole world, the one she rooted herself and spent twenty-eight years being steeped in, existed in abstractions. At any moment, she could drop everything to become a freedom fighter in Thailand or a researcher in Antarctica, something that would require her to sever all attachments to her current life in favor of something new, but she wouldn’t. She could subvert the system and start a mass movement against inequitable and corrupt institutions, but she wouldn’t do that either. Whether it was because she was too proud or because she enjoyed comfort too much, she couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Hadn’t. 

Shai was back outside without much time to heal the wounds of her tired feet and her mental irritation. To ease her mind. To find out more. Her intentions were multifaceted.

If the world around her were a convenience store on the corner of a street that Shai would periodically pop into to see what has been added and pick up a package of instant ramen when her kitchen was empty, then she would be at the far corner of the store near two walls of refrigeration. Cold, but in a familiar place. An incorrigible habit is to become dependent upon the world around you.

Shai was strolling around the grassy area only a short distance away from Mona’s main house. Earlier, while embarking on the tour with her gracious host/tour guide, Shai had inquired about Mona’s greenhouses. She learned that Mona grew strawberries and strawberries alone, although she was sure to mention her distaste for the things despite the fact she devoted her life to them. It was an interesting note, but Shai didn’t think much of it and attributed it to the peculiar nature of the girl.

Still pondering what she was doing at this farm (and in general), Shai thought about Mona and the girl’s role in the world.

Mona was only a small part of an ecosystem. A wheel in the cog of life. On her own, survival was a dubious prospect that seemed so far away. Only the sun could measure a comparable distance, splayed out in the sky and distant. With the other members of her mountainous farm community, which, as Mona described, included a sheepherder, a potato farmer, and a few others that Shai couldn’t remember, she had all she needed for survival. The nearby grocery store a few miles up the road helped as well.

All around her, Shai saw only grass or stones or puddles of water. A few trees, but nothing significant. Steps carried her further away, then back toward the house, then away again in a fluctuating pattern that resulted in a circular sinusoidal wave around the perimeter of the farm.

A large stone on the ground beckoned to Shai, calling her forward to grab her by the shoulders and shake her awareness. It was a statue of a bear, carved into a gray stone that must have been plucked from the mountain. One paw was raised as if to say hello and the other was by its side, calmly waiting to react. On its hind legs, it looked so regal. A master of the land, or a protector. Shai looked at it with curiosity and amazement. She wished she had brought her phone to take a photo. The surrounding amber light made the statue glow. She resolved to capture a mental photograph and move on. She could feel an empty knot forming in the pit of her stomach and decided to turn back to the house to seek out food.

Mona said she would help with whatever Shai needed, and food, after all, is an essential fuel of life, like water and humor. If anyone would know where to find something to eat, Mona would. Furthermore, she was kind enough to help and move on without bothering Shai.

A mission back to the house brought promising potential.

\-----

To survive, preparation is key. In the grand scheme of the universe, life is an ephemeral glimpse that can be missed if your eyes are shut for too long, but arranging one’s ducks into a neat line can add a few minutes. If you’re lucky, you might get a few more years ended with a cruel truncation. It’s unfortunate, but it is what it is.

Food is one of those little things that all beings need to survive. Whether it comes from the sun or from a cricket, it carries much-needed energy that adds links to the food chain, allowing it to perpetuate. Like energy, love is another thing that never dies. Love surrounds living things and it constantly changes forms to adapt to its surroundings. Grief, desire, bliss...these and more are temporary representations of love that are to be reborn in another. It proliferates. It warms. It burns. It fuels.

Shai had one great love that stood heads above the rest. Food. 

It's a perfect scalene triangle.

In this particular area, Mona’s expertise shone. When Shai stormed up to her house and politely pounded on the door to inquire where she might find some food, Mona’s face lit up like a lamp when the bulb had finally been screwed in properly.

“I have an amazing idea! How hungry are you?”

Shai doubled over in a dramatic display to convey her discomfort. Her histrionics punctuated her point as she said, “Very. I will take anything you have. An idea, a plate of leftovers, flavored air. Anything.” How she let herself get to this point, she did not know. Although she was famished, the extent wasn’t as severe as she made it out to be. However, she sensed that Mona knew but continued anyway, seeing the situation as a little joke that danced between the two.

“Perfect. This shouldn’t take long once I get it all set up. There are plenty of things in my fridge that would be great for this. I need a few hands to help. Come inside, I’ll need you to carry some things.” Mona gestured into the house with a pawing motion, as if to make the air more comfortable before settling there. 

“I would be glad to help.”

Shai set foot inside Mona’s house and was simultaneously astounded and assured in her skills of reading people. It’s always a shock to see a person’s personal space and their belongings, what they hold dear. Mona’s house had the eclectic collection of knick-knacks and vintage pieces strewn throughout that Shai expected, but everything fit together in a surprisingly normal way. 

In the foyer, there were many paintings of people Shai had never seen before and of animals, landscapes, and abstract images. To the left, there was the living room, which contained a couch, a loveseat, and a television among other things. To the right was the dining area that led into the kitchen. A set of stairs guided the way to the second floor, but Shai wouldn’t pry about that place. It was odd enough being in this stranger's home. If Normal Shai hadn’t abandoned Current Shai so long ago, she never would have agreed to stay here and relinquish her safety to an unknown and potentially dubious individual in the first place. But Mona felt safe and lively. She was inexplicably summery.

A momentary fixation on a painting of a turtle on the wall was jolted by the sound of items being thrown onto a surface. Mona was quickly grabbing things from her refrigerator and tossing them onto the island in her kitchen. Shai stood in the doorway, too uncomfortable and unsure to commit to either space with her presence. Limbo was a cautious gamble.

Mona whipped her body around and pointed a finger to the window above the sink. “You see that patio?” Shai did, indeed, see the patio beyond the glass screen. A table was surrounded by four chairs, Shai assumed for sitting. Hanging string lights illuminated the scene. “Yes, I do.”

“Can you take this stuff to the table and open it? Here, take a few plates as well. There are a few more things I need to get from the back.” Mona gathered cutlery and various plates and bowls among the food, which consisted of unknown items wrapped in butcher paper and an immense amount of pre-chopped produce in containers, including mushrooms, onions, peppers, and more. “Of course. I’ll start now.”

“Great, you can go through the backdoor here.” It was just beyond the fridge in a separate nook. “It should save you a few precious steps.”

Shai began moving things from one surface to another at a glacial pace. Her legs were weary from driving all day and the small amount of walking she was doing was taxing. Once everything from the kitchen counter, plates and all, was on the outside table, Shai stood around. Would it be more strange for Mona to find her seated or standing? She could always pretend she had just finished her task and she, therefore, didn’t have time to sit. She couldn’t bring herself to open anything because the insects all around her frightened her.

While she played ball with her panic, Mona came outside with her arms wrapped around a yakitori grill. In her waistband she had tongs and on her face a smile. “I forgot the charcoal. One minute, then I’ll get this set up.” 

In mere seconds she returned with a bag of charcoal in hand. She poured it into the body of the creature and sparked it with flamed finesse that rivaled a dragon. “Now, let’s begin. We can open these things and throw them directly onto the heat. Pull up a seat and bring the plates.”

Mona dragged the table closer to the fire and unfolded the butcher paper around the unidentified consumable. Beef. Apparently, it was of high quality.

She threw a large strip of meat onto the flame and surrounded it with vegetables. “No seasoning?”

“If you use a yakitori grill properly, the flavor will be imparted into the food without the need for any added ingredients.”

“Not even salt?”

“I like to think I can add enough myself” She wiggled her eyebrows then winked, proud of her wit. It was sweet like a creamsicle softened from the heat after playing in the yard for many hours. “I don’t do this often, but when I do, I don’t usually think it requires any. If you want some, I can grab it for you.”

Being a finicky and needy houseguest was one of the unforgivable sins of living, so Shai knew she would never say yes. “No, it’s alright. I’ll trust a master.”

“A little more experience hardly qualifies as mastery.”

“From this angle, those skills seem pretty masterful,” Shai teased. Mona was shifting the food on the grill, making sure each side was cooked evenly if not thoroughly.

“Why, thank you. Oh! I forgot the most important part. Can you watch these for a minute? I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, sure.” Shai wanted to know where she was going but figured she would find out soon enough. Mona handed the tongs to Shai and bolted to the backdoor before slipping inside and returning seconds later, a case of beers in one hand and a bottle of red wine and two glasses in the other. A wave of relief washed over Shai, finally wiping away the deep trenches that spelled out “worry” and “awkward” in the sand.

“Have you ever considered abandoning your farm to pursue a career in the psychic arts? I think you just read my mind.”

“Believe it or not, the thought has crossed my mind many times.” She laughed. “Which would you prefer?”

“I’ll take a beer.”

“Excellent choice. There will be time for wine later and the beer is cold now. With the heat in the air, I don’t know how long that statement will hold true.” Mona made an excellent point. Even with the sun having retired to rest several minutes ago, the lingering whispers of daytime remained. 

The heat in the air was soon joined by the smell of something burning. Shai jumped and turned her attention to the grill just in time to catch a few of the vegetables before they were too far gone and completely inedible. She tossed them onto a plate and dropped flecks of her embarrassment across them as well. That should be enough to add flavor. A bitter twinge of regret.

“I am so sorry. I’ll abstain from cooking any further. This is why I never cook anything. I think I was cursed or something.”

“As a self-diagnosed psychic, I can confirm that you are not cursed, just a poor cook. An easily distracted one, at that.”

“Thanks, I really needed to hear that,” Shai said, rich with sarcasm. Another note to add to the flavor profile of the meal.

Mona hadn’t taken any notice of Shai’s tone. “Here, have some of this.” She reached to place some of the vegetables and meat on the plate on Shai’s lap before adding more to the grill. She was starting to fall into a pattern with precise times and a balance of attention between the social atmosphere and the world of culinary arts.

“Now that we have the time, why don’t you tell me about yourself? What brings you here?” Mona inquired, clearly as curious about Shai as Shai was about her. She had managed to quell her curiosity for a long time, but it sprinkled out now.

“Nothing much. I’m a writer and I’m looking for some inspiration. Being cooped up at home was starting to drive me crazy, so I thought I’d shake things up and see something new.” Fighting against her better nature, Shai stripped her story of any details that might allude to her breakdown or her paying (but painfully boring) job. She became the antithesis of everything she preached, creating a fog of mystery around herself fabricated with slight mistruths.

As the two talked, smoke graced the air with its delicate fingertips. It swirled around them in elegant, yo-yo spirals. Framed in an unbound portrait, Mona carried on.

“Interesting. I’ve never met an author before. What do you write?”

Shai had never been asked the question before. Until now, writing was something reserved exclusively for the reservoirs of ideas in her mind. It was personal, secret. Mona had an odd way of sucking truths out of a person as easily and she espoused them. “Fictions at the moment. I’m working on a story about the relationship between a mother and a daughter.”

“Is it based on your life?” Mona asked with genuine interest.

“Not quite, but I think parts of it could be. I don’t really know. There isn’t much for me to assess yet to declare whether it is based on my experiences or not. I guess I’ll find out later.” Her gaze turned to the ground and her words trailed off as her mind returned to her failures. Writing was not working. It might never work. It was her own mess to sort. Her own filth to rot in. 

Shai could feel Mona’s eye staring at her hunched back with mild concern circling her oculus. “It sounds interesting. After all, everyone has a mother. I think it’s an excellent starting point.”

Shai sat up straight again and turned to face Mona in the chair next to her. “You’re right. It’s just a start.” Stabbing a mushroom on her plate, Shai began eating quietly and so did Mona beside her, continuing to manage the food with regimented order. 

Few words passed between the two and a calmness settled over them. More beers were opened until the wine was all that was left. Then, when the food was all gone, an amazing feat given the volume available (but the void in Shai’s gut was not metaphorical), Mona dipped inside to grab one more thing.

Upon her return, she brought two forks and a large container of cubed watermelon. “I hope you’re ready for more.”

“Always.”

Chomping away on the sweet, refreshing fruit while her mind jumped from one passion to another (attributed to her heavy intoxication), Shai asked, “If you live on a strawberry farm, why don’t you eat strawberries? I know, you don’t like them, but why not? Don’t you grow good ones? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Mona smiled again. “Don’t touch the merchandise.”

“That makes sense. I guess. All I know is if I had to spend all day,” she exaggerated the “a” in all, making it last for thirty years instead of a fraction of a second, “growing something, then I’d at least want to taste it. Oh well. Whatever.”

Mona exhaled, amused. “I don’t mind working all day. I like it here. It’s grounding, almost quite literally.”

“That was a cheesy pun.”

“I’m fully aware.”

Shai found herself wanting to know more. “What’s your favorite part of this whole thing,” she inquired, a nudge of her head to indicate the farm as the topic of her question.

Mona took a few seconds to answer, fully considering the question and every possible aspect that could fall into first place on the list of amazing things about her home. 

“He doesn’t stop by as much anymore, but a cat--I call him Nero--used to stroll around the greenhouses and lay in the sun. If I ever accidentally left the door open, he would wander in and I would find him lying in a strip of sunlight with his stomach on display. Fortunately, he never ate anything. I gave him food from time to time and he would let me pet him like some disdainful deity. I never learned who his owner was or where he came from; he didn’t have a collar. I like to think he was my cat. In a way, he was.”

Shai had mixed feelings. “He sounds really sweet.” An intermission before shifting tones. “I wish I liked cats. I can’t really stand pets. They’re so...messy. And they don’t listen very well.”

“I think it depends on the pet. Are you sure that’s really why you don’t like animals?”

Shai was, in fact, not sure. “I think so.” She wasn’t sure why Mona felt the need to pry.

“Here’s what I think: your mind is going to adjust to its own expectation of itself.” What? “If you think you hate animals, then, gradually, you will really start to hate animals. It is your role as a self-aware and introspective being to examine whether you really hate animals or if it is a realization of your contempt for a personal shortcoming.”

Uh, ok.

\-----

With her BAC high and climbing, a plateau nowhere in sight, Shai began to be affected by the alcohol in ways she was oblivious to. One of which was rambling.

“This place is so beautiful. Just look at it! All I have at home are some dead plants in the kitchen. It’s so sad. I don’t know why I keep killing them. I can’t seem to stop wrecking everything. I should just stop doing stuff. I think I’m going to quit everything, move out of my apartment, and become nomadic. That would be fun.”

Mona just sat back in her chair, absorbing every incoherent mumble from Shai as if she were a scribe transcribing holy scripture onto a mental plaque. She didn’t say anything, refraining from adding any unnecessary commentary that would derail or upset Shai in her enthusiastic monologue. 

“You know what? You know what I saw earlier?” Shai slurred her words together. They barely squeezed out of the tangled hose of her mouth and into sentences with proper syntax. 

“Not at all,” Mona responded, seizing the opportunity to indulge Shai with a response.

“A rock. A really cool rock. With a face. I want to go find that rock. I really like that rock.”

When she drank too much, which didn’t happen often but that didn’t mean it never happened, Shai lost all inhibitions, as any person does. She will do anything she feels in the moment. A sycophantic monster within wills her to do things she didn’t consciously want to do. Anything and everything. Once, she jumped off the roof of a building into a pool. Another time, she bought a goldfish from a pet store to keep in a vase on her breakfast table. This time, she wanted to befriend a rock. A noble mission. Rocks need friends, too.

Completely unaware of what she was doing or what danger looked and smelled like, Shai stood up and attempted to emit determined energy the way a toddler radiates chaos. “Do you want to come and see the rock?”

Mona looked surprised, then immediately tired. “No thanks. I should really clean up before I fall asleep out here and attract raccoons. That, and I don’t like walking around at night. I don’t trust the ground. I don’t want to step on a frog. I might cry if I do.” Then Mona rose as well, shuffling over to the table to begin collecting everything in a pile to carry inside. “Stay safe, though. Bring a flashlight and your phone and call me if you need help. Here, let me put my number in your phone.”

Shai surrendered her cellphone to Mona and Mona quickly typed in her name and number, ensuring that she pressed save before returning to her cleaning. 

“Here I go. Bye,” Shai said, extending the last syllable out for many seconds, more than what would be deemed necessary by the council of language. Bypassing the flashlight, she walked.

\-----

Without knowing which direction the rock lay in, Shai stumbled off in a drunken stupor away from the certainty of light and into the puzzlement of night. Within minutes, she was lost.

Shai was caterwauling through fields of random crops like a foul creature attempting to summon a friend of the same species. She was lonely and disoriented, probably miles away from her rock pal, but who was counting. She didn’t bring a measuring tape, and measuring distances in the dark was a ridiculous effort anyway.

Shai walked for a long time, although she wasn’t sure how long because alcohol has a special way of distorting time. It fills in pockets with hollow periods of nothingness. It creates black holes where nothing looks or feels quite right.

A lack of dexterity and numbed reflexes led to, unsurprisingly, a short fall in between rows of green. What was the green? Shai uprooted a single plant, examining what was below. A carrot.

Shai dusted the thing off on her skirt and took a bite. It was crunchy for more than one reason. Some of it was the inherently delectable texture of the carrot itself; some if it was dirt.

She pulled out a few more, examining them but not eating them. The endeavor was sparked more by intrigue than by hunger.

It felt good to have something in her stomach after hours of copious drinking. It was grounding.

She stood up to continue her journey with replenished energy. She walked some more, spinning loosely and humming a tune.

The world looked dramatically different at night. Everything glowed, but in a special, moon-lit way. There was a shimmer, not an intense burn. The wind carried calm piano music, the kind that plays at a sad part in a movie, and the moon hummed a gentle tune like the beautiful goddess it is. Movement was like watercolor and the stars were shoulders to hug, lovingly shake, or cry on.

Shai walked, keeping her head up and the heavens in focus. Shai wasn’t religious, she never had been, but she would gladly give up her mortal life to meld with the night sky, to become one of the embers in the darkness.

Eventually, her pace slowed. Her vibrancy and desire were dragged away in an internal landslide, banjo music and flute playing in the background. Shai found a place to sit for a minute. Nothing more than a short pause to recharge. That was all it would be.

After ascending, the lark must also stop to rest.

A tree provided the greatest intimacy of life: holding an umbrella above her head as sleep wrapped its heavy arms around her and she became one with the ground below.

\-----

Shai woke up in a state. Not Nebraska nor Kentucky, not even Queensland, Australia. Shai woke up in a sickly state of misery, in one of the many forms of the feeling. This particular brand left her head spinning and her body aching. She felt like a hollow, hungover strip of bacon, but not the whole strip. Instead, she was a deserted, overcooked bit left to the side, not even given the opportunity to be freed from the pan. 

The universe picks favorites and Shai was not one of them. She wasn’t even liked. The closest description would be vague tolerance like the way decent humans treat zucchini in a pasta sauce.

When her eyes opened, slowly to prevent the light from melting her delicate pupils, she could see that she was sitting under a tree. Her arms were by her side and her legs were straight out in front of her, nestled in the grass and basking in the sun. As she moved to push her body up into a sitting position, she could feel all of her muscles screaming in pain, begging her to lay down anywhere but there. Although she hadn’t said anything yet, Shai knew that her throat would feel more similar to a patch of sandpaper than an organ.

Shai pushed herself up with one hand and held her head with the other. 

The view Drunk Shai had prepared for In-The-Morning Hungover Shai was gorgeous, but it did not justify the abuse to her future self. Everywhere beyond her, there were rows and rows of produce--cabbages, beets, carrots, and more--that belonged to other farmers in the area. The sun marched over the horizon and Shai could still see elements of the mountains in the surrounding landscape. 

However, Shai did not see Mona or Mona’s house. She thought it was safe to assume that the plots of land were not Mona’s; there wasn’t a single strawberry in sight. She held her hands to her eyes as mock-binoculars, as if she were a pirate captain searching for enemies to fight or lands to plunder. 

There was no sign of her treasure island anywhere. Shai wasn’t sure how far she had walked yesterday. In fact, she wasn’t sure of much at all, especially what she had done and when. It all morphed into an indecipherable blur.

The sun continued to rise without any consideration for what was happening in the rest of the solar system. Knowing that she couldn’t remain under the tree forever, although there are certainly worse fates, Shai moved to stand. She lifted herself up from the ground, but as she bent and straightened her legs, she could feel a searing sting spread across the surface of her skin.

Who manages to get a sunburn on their legs? Faces, shoulders, and ears made complete sense. Even the scalp was fair game for a slight pink tint.

Most people struggle to tan their legs, much less burn them to a crisp and create indistinguishable flesh stems. Her appendages deserved nothing more than to be called flesh, a disgusting word, for calling them limbs or legs would lend them too much grace and dignity. She had been thrown into the pressure cooker of life and she could feel every burn of the cooking process appearing on her body.

She thought about how many bugs she must have swallowed during her glorified nap under the stars. Too many, her mind told her, but she wished rather optimistically that the opposite were true.

Now that she was standing (covered in mosquito bites and red patches) and eager to find shelter and sleep in a bed, Shai walked back to Mona’s farm. Shoulders slumped and head bowed. Rubbing her neck and yawning at random intervals. Still feeling the late effects of extreme intoxication, she stumbled around, noticing small patches of the carrots that had been dug into, leaving scraps on the ground in a disorderly mess. What animal did that?

She wasn’t sure what direction to walk in or what to look for as a landmark, but after what felt like an hour walking, when the sun was directly above and glaring down at the earth, Shai made it home. 

Upon arrival, Shai saw only one thing: Mona walking to the second greenhouse, the one she had yet to enter, with her overalls on and a bucket in hand that held who knows what. It could have been nothing. Or maybe it was something. She was too far away to be certain and Shai didn’t think it mattered. And it doesn’t really matter. However, let it be known that the bucket was, at the time, empty. It was to be filled with weeds later.

Although she was sure Mona didn’t care about what transpired last night after the two went their separate ways and she knew that Mona didn’t need to know because they were both independent adults, Shai was called to the greenhouse by the banana phone of the universe. The door of this one was fully functional and it opened with ease.

Mona was hunched over her strawberry plants again in the same pose that she was in when Shai had discovered her the day before. She was weeding, paying close attention to her every movement but doing so with innate efficiency.

Suddenly, Mona raised her head and turned it toward Shai. She was wearing her infamous smile as if she knew Shai had been on her way and she was expecting her.

When her eyes landed on Shai, looking over her head and clothes, her face became plastered with concern.

“Wow, you look horrible. Are you alright?”

“Haha, thanks for noticing. I’ll have you know that the only thing raising the reputation of this place is my good looks. I always look stunning. Am I feeling fine? Not really, but I will be after I clean up and actually sleep.”

“Well, you know what they say. In order to be confident, you have to be confident.” Shai didn’t think that anyone said that aside from crazy people and lazy students that need to meet a word count. However, by stating it, she was confirming the efficacy of her own phrase. Powerful. “I made some food for you. It’s porridge with honey and a few berries. Nothing much. I left it under a mosquito net by your door because I didn't want to disturb you.”

“Wow, thank you.” Shai awkwardly shifted her hands as she tried to figure out how to spell out the words “I appreciate you being nice to me even though I think I was pretty nasty last night” with her body without forming and shouting each letter like a cheerleader. There was a time and a place for things like that and in a greenhouse with the person you are renting a room from does not seem like the appropriate set of circumstances for that sort of thing.

“When you’re done, you’re welcome to come and help me in here if you want to. I’m weeding. It’s not exactly fun, but it’s quite meditative if you really focus and get into it.”

“As much as I love manual labor, I’m going to have to pass. I feel worse than flaming dog shit and all I want to do is shower and sleep. So far, this vacation has been more draining than refreshing, and I’m hoping to force the tide to aerial flip into something more relaxing.”

Mona rotated her body to face Shai fully and she lost all expression on her face. “You know, you might be the reason it’s so draining and you can’t exactly walk away from yourself. Although if you could, that would be very impressive and a great way to multi-task.” Another smile followed.

“Yeah, maybe.” Shai didn’t not believe her, but she also wasn’t sure about what she thought or how she felt. Her face fluctuated between a series of complex expressions and settled on a weak smile as she tried to instantaneously process and respond. Anything to escape the situation. “Anyway, I’m going to go. I’ll see you later.”

“What was that?”

Oh no. She had been struck by yet another personal weakness: mumbling. “I’m sorry. I’m going to go take a nap.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I’ve noticed that you’re a mumbler, especially when you drink. It’s not a problem or anything, just something I’ve noticed. And about this evening? I normally watch movies on Sunday nights, so you can join me if you like. I don’t have anything picked out yet and I’m open to suggestions. I’d even be willing to rent something in high definition if it’s accompanied by a good recommendation.”

“I’ll consider it. Bye.” Her curt response led into her prompt flee as she retreated out the door and walked back to her shack.

She heard Mona cry “godspeed” as she was leaving.

Just as Mona had said, there was a tray holding a bowl and a spoon on the ground under a mosquito net outside her door, although Shai could smell the aroma that permeated the air from a distance while she was still approaching the building. Hunger had a way of dulling some senses and enhancing others, one of which was smell.

Shai opened the door with her key before grabbing the tray with both hands and setting it on the table. She turned to close the door and lock it again before she began scarfing down every bite of food in the bowl.

\-----

By the time Shai finished her food, her desire to sleep had been smited by the surge of energy and endorphins that typically arrive following an intense exercise routine. Eating is hard work. With a sharp mind, she set out to read one of the three books she brought with her.

Did she really believe that she would complete one book, much less three? No, not at all. However, Shai was very self-aware and knew that her attention span was limited, so much so that it reflected that of a small child. One book was too risky because as soon as the boredom set in she would want to move on but would have no options. Two felt too restrictive. Three was ideal for providing ample choice without exorbitant weight and decision making. Yet another weakness. Like eating, choosing things is also hard work.

Shai often weighed her weaknesses. When she considered these things, she didn’t think of it as being pessimistic; instead, it was realistic. A person cannot understand themselves or the nature of their surroundings without giving equal measure to the things that don’t measure up themselves. What they are measuring up to, whether it is by volume or mass, customary or metric, it did not matter. Only that they were being analyzed with a critical eye. 

After grabbing a book, one that she had received as a gift from her mother, she sauntered back to the table and sat in the seat that she had left open for herself. She tied her long, dark hair into a loose bun and pried open the cover. According to her bookmark (a free bookmark she took from a “take one!” bin on the counter at the of a local bookstore that had a picture of a kitten sitting on a stack of books), she was on page 38. At first, she tried to pick up where she left off months ago, jumping into chapter 3 with potent verve. Unfortunately, she had no clue what was happening nor what had happened that led to the main character begging a secondary character to help him by becoming the co-editor of the school newspaper. 

Mentally, she was on page one. Physically, she conceded and returned to page one and refreshed herself on the characters, setting, plot, and every other detail of the story.

She read until she returned to page 38, this time with full context and a deep understanding, or as deep as an understanding could be when one is only 10% of the way through a text. Surrounded by nothing but warm air that was being twirled around by an old ceiling fan like hair around a finger, Shai continued to sweat. When she woke up hours ago under her arboreous friend, she was sweating. At present, she was still sweating. She wasn’t sure she had ever stopped. She questioned why she ever left the comfort of her air conditioning system. Fingerprints formed on the pages out of beads that collected on the tips of her fingers. Disgusting.

Before she could destroy the precious gift her mother had given her, Shai switched her activity. She closed the book and pushed it to the edge of the table next to her tray of dirty dishes. She would have to return that later. She didn’t have her computer available, but even if she did, there was no internet connection in the shed. Not that she had found, anyway. 

She would have to resort to archaic traditions. Writing by hand.

The change of scene had sparked an emotional release, so there was a chance it could initiate the flow of words from a finger-spout. Many years ago, when she was still a student in secondary school, her 72-year-old English teacher told her that the brain works better and can process more clearly when writing by hand. Her science teacher taught her to question everything and to test every theory. This exercise would be an application of both pieces of knowledge. A genuine experiment to verify the tenacity of two statements.

Shai crossed the room and reached into her backpack to grab a legal pad of paper and five pens. When she was quickly stuffing things into this bag days prior, she hadn’t anticipated actually using the items she packed after she arrived at her destination. Part of her envisioned a meditative journey filling her time, and the other part of herself dreamed of a full itinerary with plenty of distractions like art museums and expensive restaurants.

Shai began the page by writing “I Made a Writing Thing” at the top. No goal and no title. Nothing to hinder her brainstorming, but nothing to guide her either. She was going to write whatever came to mind.

Five minutes passed. Five more minutes passed. Soon, twenty-five minutes had come and gone like a bus at a station that was off schedule and in too much of a hurry. Shai massaged her temples, a therapeutic habit to restore a disturbed calm.

Not only did she not have any ideas, but she had no way of forming whatever abstractions were swimming in her mind into comprehensible words. She was frustrated. Annoyed. Annoying. Tired. Waiting for talent to slap her across the face with a fish. For someone whose life reeks of a bar tale, she couldn’t come up with anything to save herself. If she were placed in a situation where she must write or she would be forced to dance to the Macarena for forty-eight hours, then she better buy some Red Bull and comfortable shoes because it would be time to dance.

She attributed the whole thing to a heat-addled, sleep-deprived brain. That combined with rich embarrassment that hindered synapse function. As time passes, like all things, the invocation of Aidos diminishes; however, a respectable level of regret never lessens or leaves.

There was no way on earth or in hell she had a full eight hours of sleep the night before. The number was probably closer to four. She was already tired and now the food was having adverse effects that pulled her like the Pied Piper into drowsiness. 

Once the passage of time allowed the food to finally settle, digestion began. Digestion then led to the exertion of stomach muscles. Intense internal efforts resulted in exhaustion. Exhaustion forced Shai to move from the table to the cot for a short nap. Nothing too long, but enough to satisfy her tired mind and drooping eyelids. A trendy power nap would be ideal. Afterward, maybe if she had a very captivating dream that she could somehow manage to remember before it is carried away in the wind like the carbonation from a freshly popped soda can, she could continue writing and would come up with something worth reading.

As she lay there, her back sweat still tactile between her body and her bed, she looked up at the ceiling. She had a few ideas in her head. First, she thought about the book she was reading and how she had already, or she believed she had already, determined the plot, main conflict, and resolution with nothing more than the provided characterization and descriptions. Second, she thought about a quotation that she read one time many years ago. “If something is weighing on your heart, it weighs on your tongue as well.” 

Therapy might be the way to unearth the root of that one.

In the end--the final image before sleep stuffed her into a knapsack and stole her away--she thought about Mona’s offer to watch a movie that evening. On one hand, she didn’t know Mona or her taste in movies very well and there was a high chance that the evening would be an awkward, uninteresting disaster. On the other hand, she didn’t have anything to lose or anywhere better to be. On the other hand that is not the original hand but a third hand, she was curious about the inside of Mona’s house and she wanted to explore it further. To see it in its entirety and submerge herself in it. Altogether, would it suit her personality? Match her aesthetic? Would it harbor dark secrets that would leave Shai fleeing and calling the police with a hysterical voice? She wouldn’t know unless she crossed the threshold and entered the large intestine of the beast.

\-----

Slowly, very slowly, Shai was swallowed by the warm comfort of sleep. However, minutes before, Shai waltzed into a field of memories, ripe with fertile green and scintillating yellow. 

Nearly twenty years ago--two decades, practically an eternity--Shai stood in a similar space. A kitchen with wooden walls and hot air like the inside of the world’s most illogical stationary hot air balloon. The room smelled of adobo, chili, garlic, cumin...an onslaught of aromas that culminated in a delicate pocket of dough, beans, and explosive flavor.

Shai planted her feet in front of a giant island. She was surrounded by a sea of metal pots and pans. On the other side of the preparatory isle, Shai’s grandma hummed and folded with a steady rhythm. The rosy old woman was aged but experienced and made richer with time like a fine wine. However, she still harbored a deep bite that could be unleashed when prompted by a slight step out of line. 

When they were baked, the empanadas glowed with a golden, flaky crust; until then, they were disappointing, soggy dough wads that flopped unless they were supported. Shai didn’t like that. Raw, unfinished things bothered her to her core, but she carried on to fulfill her sense of duty. 

Eight years of experience as a human and two years of practice folding empanadas weren’t enough to be considered a master of anything. It amounted to competence, but nothing more. Still, Shai found her stride and folded distractedly for many minutes.

With confidence in her left hand and an unprepared empanada in her right, Shai picked up speed, feeling as though she could move as quickly as her grandmother. Unfortunately, her confidence was misplaced. 

A little pocket tumbled to the floor, silent but heavy. Heavy on Shai’s heart, her conscience, and her fragile calmness. As an instinctive reaction, Shai kicked it below the counter. There would be no problem if there was no evidence. Why create something out of nothing?

Then, she needed to remove herself from any potential indictments. “May I go to the restroom?” she asked. “Yes, but hurry back. We’re almost done and cooking them comes next. That’s what I really need your help with.” Her Grandmother winked.

“I will.” Shai ran down the hall past the bathroom and outside to the street, where she found her brothers and their friends playing soccer. The ball slammed against a stone wall, bouncing back and landing in the feet of her eldest brother, Elias. He dribbled past a player and passed to another. Shai’s eyes were glued to the ball the whole time.

“I’m open! Pass it to me,” she cried, desperate to be involved. To do something. To feel her power and force surging through her body as she nailed a kick. To forget her fatal mistake.

The ball eventually came thanks to a pass from her youngest brother, Micah. She ran with it, resolved to get as far as she could on her own without giving up anything. Not a single step. Not a single touch. She wanted to feel the most she could.

Empanadas, falling, the concept of gravity...all of these things drifted away from her consciousness. When she was doing something, her mind could stop its cycles on the hamster wheel and just be. It could listen in secret and speak as it pleased without stress.

The world built its own balance in what she did, whatever it may be. It sang in harmonies behind her solo and blended colors with a cleaned palette knife.

Beauty is to be in the presence of excellence. Isn’t it enough to just be, mistakes and all?

\-----

Hours later, or what she assumed was hours later when she awoke with swollen eyes and red marks across her limbs, Shai sat up in her bed. Alive, but only barely. Like Frankenstein’s monster, but without the history of a nefarious creator. Or maybe there was one. Shai didn’t have evidence to the contrary.

Feeling not quite rejuvenated, not even completely functional yet, Shai’s head felt groggy and loose. She wasn’t sure which would break first, her determination to stay awake or the gentle lull of sleep. Only a few more minutes, she told herself, until she wouldn’t feel weighed down. 

As she rose from the ashes like the phoenix, moments from the day replaced the slipping flashes of dreams. 

Mona’s question popped back into position at the forefront, being picked up, magnified, and examined from all angles. The Movie. Would it be better to go or to stay? Which would result in more regret?

A spur of something unknown rattled her stomach. It wasn’t a sense of pain or of anything particularly positive either. It was something new. Something odd. It told her, in a weary, warbly voice, that she should go. The voice was old, that of someone with a lot of wisdom seasoned with time and experience. Someone who could be trusted.

Shai decided to go after all.

\-----

Shai arrived at Mona’s house thirty minutes after she made the decision to watch the movie with her.

“I’m here,” she declared as she stepped inside, pushing past the back door that she had become acquainted with the evening prior. She passed through the kitchen; a plate of food on the island caught her eye.

“Your timing is impeccable. I finished cleaning up dinner a few minutes ago, but I prepared a plate for you. I wasn’t sure if you had eaten yet and I didn’t want to be a bad host. Better to be safe than sorry and all. Anyway, it’s nothing fancy, just some curry and rice.” Mona’s words poured out of a gourd and into Shai’s relieved, joyful little ears. Shai saw Mona jump over the back of the couch and run into the kitchen as she spoke. “Also, I haven’t started the movie yet. I was leaning toward Shrek, but The Road to El Dorado is a viable option as well.”

“Are the only competitive candidates animated movies?” Shai asked. “It didn’t start out that way, but as I weaned my options, these came out as the best ones,” Mona said emphatically.

“I see.” With a doubtful tone. Very uncertain. “Well, thank you for the food. Coincidentally, I haven’t yet eaten anything and this looks amazing.” Shai was a large fan of curry. Enough to go online and subscribe to a fandom base that envelops her into a mass of comedic, artistic, and absurd content related to her specific passion. Normally, she ate instant curry that she prepared with very few ingredients in very few minutes, less than she should be devoting to food preparation. Thrown over microwaved rice, it was an efficient and decent meal. 

The plate that sat before her was all homemade and, dare she say, gourmet. Though it had cooled significantly, it was still fragrant of spices and root vegetables. Amazing. Grabbing the spoon next to the plate, she dug in immediately, not realizing how hungry she was until she smelled the food.

Shai didn’t know how Mona had time to make food. She was always moving and doing things. Shai always thought that free time was a foreign concept to people like Mona. Time for food was second from the bottom.

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying it,” Mona said, walking over to a drawer to grab a pen and a pad of paper before returning to the island. She started writing. With her left hand. She noticed Shai staring. “I’m making a grocery list. I used up most of my fresh ingredients making that curry you’re eating, but I knew it would be delicious so it was well worth it.”

“You are left-handed,” Shai said, but she didn’t know why. It wasn’t anything important or especially peculiar. Approximately ten percent of the population is left-handed, so it isn’t insanely radical. It might even seem rude to say it out loud as if it were an offhanded criticism, which it wasn't. As soon as she said it, she regretted it and wished she could take it back.

“I am, but I’m also just writing,” Mona said with no particular tone. She looked up at Shai and met her eyes. “Actually, I’m ambidextrous, but I have greater control in my left hand.”

“When I was young, I wanted to be ambidextrous. I thought it would make me special and more talented, but I know I would still lack hand-eye coordination skills, even with two dominant hands. I guess I wasn’t made for physical activities.” Again, the words spewed out of her without thinking. Curse Mona for being so easy to talk to.

“You don’t have to be good to participate in and enjoy physical activities. Talent is an illusion anyway.”

“That’s true.”

A pause floated in the air. Then Mona set up her bow and arrow and shot it down.

“There is one unstated benefit to being ambidextrous,” Mona said, completely seriously. “I am fully equipped to commit more crimes.” Then a smile.

She scares me, Shai thought, but in a good way. That stipulation was necessary. In a good way.

Mona was a cosmic projection of a person: she had the figure of a human, but she emitted a faint glow and she was far too honest. Her aura, if one believes in visible auras that surround humans and reveal their true nature, was a dark purple. Or perhaps gold. When combined, those two things create brown; however, it definitely wasn’t brown.

Shai cleaned her plating and placed it in the sink next to Mona’s, making sure to rinse off the persistent scraps that clung to the surface. If she were home, she would have licked her plate. She would have placed her tongue onto the cool ceramic to pick up every last crumb of food. Yes, she was proper and neat, but she was also human. She thought about offering to do the dishes.

“Don’t worry about the dishes. I can clean them later. Let’s go watch our movie,” Mona said, beating Shai in the race to comment. She finalized her list, tore the sheet from the ream, and stuck the paper to the fridge with a magnet. There were plenty of other magnets on the face of the refrigerator. There was a dog and a three-dimensional dinosaur--what Shai thought was a Stegosaurus, but she couldn’t remember the names of any dinosaur other than a Tyrannosaurus rex-- as well as a palm tree and many travel magnets from places like Havana and New Orleans. An eclectic mix of things, but it didn’t look cluttered at all.

“Have you decided on what movie yet?”

Mona gave Shai a confident nod. “Writing allowed me to think further and I came to the conclusion that Shrek would be the best fit for the evening. It’s a classic with a stellar soundtrack.”

“No complaints here,” Shai said, and she meant it. Shrek was mildly overrated, even with its mature humor and lovable characters, but cool people watch Shrek. Cool people that do cool things and subscribe to conventional activities and proclivities that contribute to the achievement of the cool lifestyle. Seeing the movie for the twenty-first time might be the final puzzle piece to unlock the secret box of coolness. She wouldn’t find out unless she tried. If twenty-one was good enough for blackjack, it was good enough for her.

Mona and Shai entered the living room, Shai following slightly behind Mona to allow her to show off the space. Shai sat on the couch like a robot: stiff. When she had settled, she was still rigid. It would still be another fifteen minutes until she relaxed and no longer kept an eye on the nearest exit in the case of an emergency. 

Mona put the DVD into the DVR and grabbed a remote, joining Shai on the couch. She sat in the center, which Shai thought was strange. For most people, most strangers, opposite ends of the couch are safe territory and the middle is no-man’s-land. No one should enter the sacred space for risk of ruining the delicately balanced atmosphere of the room, turning it into something close to tension. The gall Mona had for daring to go where very few would.

The movie started. It instantly grasped the attention of its limited audience as soon as the little boy on the crescent moon dipped his fishing pole into the clouds. Shai wasn’t sure if commentary was warranted or even wanted in this situation. Watching movies with others in silence is painful, but to speak when no one wants to listen is to court disaster.

In the dim, Shai could see Mona’s face turn sour, then into a melancholy frown. Mona grabbed the wheel of the ship with one hand and the conductor's baton with the other, directing the way the movie-watching experience would go. Talking would be involved. 

“This movie is sad, don’t you think? The beginning is. The way everyone mistreats Shrek is absolutely cruel. Sure, he is an ogre and he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he actually seems to enjoy being feared, but the prejudice is unacceptable. Is it really ok to dehumanize someone simply because they don’t care that you do? I don’t think it is.”

Shai hadn’t been expecting a conversation of this depth when she agreed to watch Shrek, an animated movie with a target demographic many years behind her own age. Before now, she hadn’t been expecting anything at all that wasn’t quiet and stares. A discussion of this magnitude caught her off guard and struck her at the ankle, throwing her off.

“I guess it is a little sad. I’ve never considered it before…” Shai trailed off, not confident in her own take on the subject (not that she had developed one yet anyway, but if she had, it wouldn’t be voiced right now without any formal polishing and a thick layer of shoeshine). After thinking for a moment, she found her voice again. Her strongly pessimistic voice. “It is sad, but everything in the world sucks a little because people just kinda suck.”

Mona turned and looked Shai squarely in the face. “How eloquent of you, but yes, I agree. To an extent. Humans are inherently selfish and, on occasion, toxic to the world around them like parasitic animals.” She turned back to the screen but continued talking. “Take my farm for example. Or rather, the environment. Everything is heating up rapidly and most of it is polluted beyond recognition, so the longevity of this place and the profession as a whole is constantly being threatened. Every time I think about it, I wince internally, but then I stop thinking about it very quickly. I smile instead. It’s far less painful.”

Shai understood everything she said. Inwardly, she agreed with it. “Yeah,” she said in an effort to outwardly convey this agreement.

Just as suddenly as she had spoken, contrasting everything Shai thought the evening would bring after Mona uttered her first word during the film, Mona fell silent again. She was fully engrossed in the images on the screen and the soothing voice of Mike Meyers doing a Scottish accent. 

Shai looked back toward the television set herself, watching the movie with complete focus until the credits rolled in. Mona piped up again. “That was lovely. Thanks for coming.”

Shai knew she needed to voice how she felt. 

“Thank you for inviting me. I will admit, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be and it was certainly better than strolling off into a field and waking up under a tree.” She glanced at the sunburns that still burned brightly on her legs, red and radiating. “I’m kinda sad it’s over.”

“Everything is temporary, and that is the greatest comfort and the most terrifying reality.” Mona spoke like a sage as if she were reciting ancient texts that she knew by heart. Everything sounded more profound when it came from her lips. “We can do it another time. Then it won’t have to be sad.”

“Yeah, we can,” Shai agreed. Upon finishing her last word, Shai came to a profound realization. She didn’t want this conversation to end. Not yet.

“So, um,” she tried. Nope, start again. “What’s your favorite movie? Of all time?”

Mona was already on the other side of the room, flicking on lights and removing the DVD from the DVR to put it away. “If I had to choose just one, I would say...Amadeus.”

“Amadeus?”

“Yes, Amadeus.”

What? “What?”

“It’s a movie about Mozart. The soundtrack of the film is a large selling point, so I would recommend it to anyone who is a fan of classical music. Do you like classical music?”

“Sure. I don’t dislike it.” Shai didn’t really listen to any classical music and she could only name one piece (Moonlight Sonata) but she enjoyed the way Mona rhapsodized about the film and she didn’t want to disappoint her. “Well, what’s your favorite song?”

“I don’t think I could name one that is my favorite. I think everything has a certain appeal. Oh, and before you ask, my favorite book is The Soul of an Octopus.”

That was creepy. How did she know what Shai was going to say? It was like she was in her head. Shai once read in a client’s manuscript about a concept called “theory of mind.” What Shai gleaned from the text was the ability to connect thoughts and beliefs to oneself and others. Part of the theory related to the anticipation of thoughts as organisms come to understand the tendencies and habits of other beings. Mona had a talent for detecting what Shai thought, intended, desired, felt, knew--all of it. She exemplified the theory at its most extreme. It was that, or Shai was wildly predictable.

“Why do you like that book?”

As usual, Mona took no time to answer. “The book explores different perspectives on misunderstood and unique creatures with immense intelligence. Reading it made me fall in love with the little slimy guys.”

“Cool.” That was all she had to say. 

“What’s your favorite book?”

Shai hadn’t been expecting to be the interview subject. Not a single answer had been prepared. This could be a disaster. “I don’t have one. I spend all day reading things, so it feels wrong to choose a favorite. Especially if the book isn’t written by someone I work with. It feels...almost treasonous.”

“I hate to stifle the conversation with subtleties and a nuanced position, but you can have a favorite aside from what is stuffed in your face every day. You don’t owe anything to anyone. Your devotion to your work should make you better equipped to articulate why these things are your favorite anyway.”

Maybe she’s right. “Maybe you’re right.”

“With that said, what’s your favorite book?”

Shai thought about it and then said with half-hearted confidence, “The Terranauts, by T.C. Boyle.”

“You’re a science fiction fan?” Mona asked. It was clear that she also knew the book.

“I am in this case.”

“Great. It’s a well-written book.”

“Yeah, it is.”

The conversation carried on for a while longer, the ball passing back and forth until Shai became too drowsy to carry on. The day left her sapped. Shai said goodnight before walking back to her room.

Somewhere in the middle of the movie, she had subconsciously relaxed and drooped into the natural curve of the couch. The warm grip of Mona’s presence took over and Shai, fiercely independent, was thankful that a hand was there to help her. It was only when she left that she realized what had happened.

\-----

Shai laid down in her bed for hours, but sleep would not come. Sleep rejected the invitation to her Dora-themed birthday party without responding to RSVP. It waited until the final moment to send a message with wishes of a joyous celebration and many blessings, but not its presence.

She knew she was tired, even after napping for many hours this afternoon, but she couldn’t force a square block into a circle hole. 

Out in the Middle of Nowhere, the specific geographic location of Mona’s farm and what one would type into a GPS to locate the place, she didn’t have any internet access; furthermore, she forgot to ask Mona about wifi connection, so she couldn’t mindlessly scroll through the internet until she drifted into the realm of dreams. In a fit of self-indulgent annoyance, Shai complained to herself about her lack of access to the world wide web, the outside world. She would have to go about it the hard way. She would stare at the ceiling for hours and force herself to fall asleep. Operation Fuck-Off-You-Hyperactive-Mind.

For a long time, people believed that the gods reserved dreams for humans alone. With more studies and a plethora of research, scientists discovered that other animals also venture into the sea of REM-driven mental images, or something close to that. Rats, dogs, fish, platypi, and more enter a state of memory processing when they fall into a deep sleep. Unfortunately, Shai would have none of the inexhaustible dream juice. This fact deprived her of her human nature.

Shai couldn’t bring herself to lie there, completely immobile, and do nothing. She would not resign to fate and wait for something to happen. Plus, she needed to pee. Doing nothing would result in an uncomfortable situation in more than one way.

She got up to pee. As she walked back to the cot, she glanced out the window and saw a light that was left glowing on the first floor of Mona’s house.

It was atavistic. She had to fulfill the natural tendency to seek out information when curiosity makes itself known.

Mona had a special mystique. How was she still awake? Was she even human? Everything she had done up to this point did nothing to corroborate the claim that she was.

Shai didn’t want to be creepy, but she, in more casual language, wanted to know what was up.

In an entirely non-stalkerish way, Shai left the shed and approached Mona’s house with caution. This trip was pushing her to be more courageous than usual, but she would not be reckless. If she was caught, it would be difficult to explain exactly what she had been doing. Looking for a lost earring? Weeding the grass? Nothing made much sense.

Shai peeked into an uncovered window and saw into Mona’s living room. The source of the light. Mona was curled up on the couch, asleep with Animorph advertisements playing on the television in the background. Shai’s eyes and lips twinkled.

Back in her small room after seeing what was in the whatever-Mona’s-last-name-was residence, Shai was lying in her bed doing what the universe had planned for her to do. Staring at the ceiling. She had been inoculated with sleep and now it refused to infect her again.

She bore out what scant knowledge she had about inducing sleep and came to the conclusion that she must count sheep. It could even be iguanas, but sheep worked well enough. It took many minutes and about three-hundred eighty-four sheep to subdue her mind. When the time finally came, it came all at once.

Shai slept and dreamed of riding a tricycle to the top of a mountain. All of the sights and smells were there without the leg cramps. It was a land of idealism. The place she wanted to be, but she could do without the tricycle.

\-----

The sun crept in through the windows at 7:24 exactly. However, to say it crept would be an extraordinary understatement. It really sprinted, full steam ahead, barging in with a glass of cold, ready-to-pour water in hand. Shai was awoken quite rudely by the unexpected intrusion. Though only a thimbleful of sleep teased her fatigued body, rest was no longer an option. Perfect.

Cicadas buzzed beyond the thin walls, screaming to the heavens as if the divine beings above did not know that it was, indeed, hot. Lungless and lacking vocal cords, cicadas should not be able to make this much sound. Not scientifically, nor morally. Delicate tymbals lend too much power to the creature that is little more than a nuisance.

Shai, laying on the bed with sheets strewn across her body like a loose, open-back toga, felt the heat penetrating through her weak human armor. If she could she would have vocalized her pain as well. The cicadas weren’t the only creatures capable of singing their blues. Unfortunately, the combination of heat and drained energy robbed her of any ability to do anything. She felt like she didn't have lungs. Maybe she had been stripped of her biological right to functioning organs and the things had been donated to the higher society of insects.

Although straddling the junction between function and collapse, Shai climbed out of bed. An eye-squinching yawn escaped her mouth as she stretched her arms above her head. First the left, then the right. 

A steady drum played in the distance. A clattering, metallic instrument with no rhythm. Shai walked toward the window, squinting her unfocused eyes as she scanned the field.

Nothing but grain and sporadic, glistening drops of water low to the ground, erupting from millions of spouts. It must have been a watering day. 

Tin barrels beside the shed carried the sounds of tinny thud, thud, thuds. 

Curious to see if Mona would maintain her habit and secretly hoping to find something to soothe her food-deprived stomach, Shai opened the door and looked down. Perfect. Soup. Beautiful, ambient-temperature soup with celery and carrots and, as always, an accompanying spoon at its side like a sidekick alongside a hero. There was also a note under it, which appeared more like a placemat than a letter. Shai’s name was scrawled on it, although misspelled. “Shy” nestled the spoon between her arm and her side before grabbing the soup with one hand and the door handle with the other. 

Once she was back inside, she sat at the small table and began to consume the sustenance before her while her fingers unfolded the paper.

Good Morning! 

Last night was a lot of fun! I hope you slept well and the watering didn’t disturb you. 

I brought some leftovers from yesterday. I hope this is enough. If you need anything, just ask!

-Mona

At the bottom of the paper, there was a drawing of two beaming, disembodied heads. One had loose, long hair and the other a small bun atop short waves.

\-----

With the food in her stomach fueling an unknown source of motivation, Shai jumped up from the chair at the table. She walked to her bag at the foot of the bed. After sifting through her three possible shirts, giving each a decent sniff to ensure freshness, she selected a plain, orange one to accompany her forest-green climbing shorts. The outfit cried out for something more than solid colors. One belt-buckling later, Shai was standing above her sneakers with matching gray socks in hand.

Shai was not a monster, so she put on her left sock, then her right sock. Her left shoe, then her right shoe. There was a proper protocol to follow that simply must not be broken.

Though she wasn’t hungry yet, not having a plan for the day meant that she was susceptible to becoming peckish later with nothing to get her through such trying times. She knew she would grow hungry eventually, but she did not know when eventually was. Just to be safe, she stuffed a chocolate-covered granola bar in her pocket. She could already imagine her 98.6-degree-temperature thigh melting the chocolate, creating an undesirable mountain of goop. However, aesthetics did not dictate edibility. Desperation was a sufficient legal warrant for indecent consumption.

If she were to be stuck in a cave, she would wish she had it. Ignoring the slight discomfort, Shai walked to the door and stepped outside. She embraced the warm sun that had minutes ago reduced her to a lifeless mound.

She was determined. Of what, she did not know yet, but she wanted to do something. She had been on the farm for two days. 48 hours. More time than it would take to challenge God to a duel, participate in a training montage, and win the fight. She was ready to do something productive, something new. The trip was not going to be a waste. She wouldn’t let it. 

She started walking.

\-----

Three-hundred years. That’s what it felt like as she walked while searching for Mona. A victim of time dilation, Shai felt confused and already more worn than she had hoped to feel by the end of the day. 

This would be the first thing she would mention to Mona when she found her. The heat. The unbearable, enveloping heat that surrounded her and seared her skin like a rotisserie chicken.

Unsure of where she was going, Shai continued to carry herself forward. She was lost. Among four acres of crops, she had become a disoriented wanderer adrift in a sea of produce. When she didn’t need them to, words like these came to her quite easily. She didn’t have to ask or beg or consider finally signing the contract and selling her soul to the devil to be able to do something as simple as write.

Then she saw her in a greenhouse. 

Ten even rows of flora held within a glass castle. Dingy windows and delicate frames encased a messily organized shelf of tools along the front, a wheelbarrow hidden in the corner, numerous stacks of buckets, and plants. Lines of strawberry shrubs stood like terra cotta soldiers, filling the space and almost blocking the door that had to be shoved at least three times before popping open and unveiling warm humidity.

Mona, in a light-pink, dirt-covered t-shirt tucked below overalls and field boots, stood in the first aisle. A bucket hat sat on her head like a crown with strawberry subjects surrounding her on all sides. She was bending over one particular plant, her eyes examining every detail of the leaves and fruit. Her fingers grazed the leaves of the shrub like God reaching out to Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Meiji chocolate peeked out of her front pocket.

“Hi.”

“Oh, hello. Good morning. Did you see the food I left out for you?”

Mona straightened up to look at Shai, shoving the basket at her feet to the side. The enhanced light revealed smears of dirt on Mona’s face that she was likely oblivious to. Although it could have been chocolate. Shai decided not to ask.

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

A pause.

“Of course. No problem. I hope it wasn’t cold.”

“No, it was perfect. The heat made sure of that.” 

Shai ambiguously gestured outside. She made sure to stress the word “heat,” hoping that Mona would detect her annoyance with the unwelcome weather.

“It’s a little warm out there. It’s nice in here, though. I added energy curtains a few months ago, so I have been able to control the temperature and light a bit more. I’m just glad I won’t be starting fieldwork until tomorrow and when I do start, it won’t be much.” Mona paused briefly. “This is our first conversation of the day and I’ve already talked about myself too much. What are you planning to do for the day?”

Shai thought for a moment, considering if the request that she wanted to make would be asking for too much. She was already receiving a place to stay, food, and plenty of entertainment. Still, she gently pressed forward. “Do you need any help?”

“I don’t suppose I need any, but it’s always nice to have someone around to lend a hand.”

“Then this is what I’m doing today.” Shai placed her hands on her hips to show a “just do it” attitude that Nike would be proud of.

Mona crinkled her eyes and nose, adding to the radiant light that was shining around her. “Perfect. I’m harvesting the ripened berries. You can grab some gloves if you want. I have some in the bin over there.” She pointed to a basket on the shelf near the door.

Shai walked to the basket and reached in, grabbing two matching gloves and hoping they would fit. She was thankful the situation hadn’t ended in rejection. She had no other plans, no idea what to do, and she wanted to do something to repay Mona. The girl had been so nice, after all.

The gloves were slightly small but very flexible. Shai slid her fingers into the thick fabric, if it could be honored with such a title. It was more like a second layer of reptilian skin. Although the image was disturbing, many reptiles had scales to protect a fragile interior. The gloves were functional. She walked over to where Mona was, once again, hunched over a strawberry plant.

Mona looked up. “What made you want to join me?” she asked.

“I was curious. I’ve never done anything like this before. I wanted to try it.” It was an honest response.

“Well, here. Put this on and you can collect your berries in there. Feel free to empty it in here whenever the bag becomes too full.” Mona handed a fruit baby-bjorn to Shai with one hand while pointing at the bin next to her with the other.

“Ok,” Shai said. “I’ll start over here.” She started over there.

The work was tedious at first. The right berries had to be chosen and carefully removed. Shai gradually developed a rhythm. When a quarter of the greenhouse had been cleared, Mona spoke up.

“So, what is it like where you’re from?”

“It’s crowded and busy, but I like the energy of it all.” Shai hated small talk and she hoped it didn’t show. She also hated that she sounded like a pretentious piece of cardboard. Who talks about the “energy” of a place in casual conversation?

“What do you do for fun?”

“Work, I guess. I read and watch good movies. Better than Shrek.” She smirked and shifted the baby-bjorn to one hip for dramatic effect as she stood taller. Moving the sack also relieved some of the tension in her neck and back. Picking berries is deceptively hard, like most aesthetically pleasing activities. She lifted one hand to her shoulder and rubbed her aching muscles.

“Take that back! Shrek is a cinematic masterpiece. I can’t believe I allowed you to stay in my home and you disrespected my tastes,” Shai exclaimed, smiling all the while.

“First of all, I’m sleeping in your shed. Second of all, Shrek is hardly mediocre. I said what I said. I know my rights,” Shai retorted. She wondered if she had gone too far when the smile disappeared from Mona’s face.

“You know what? You’re right. Everyone knows Shrek 2 is the real masterpiece.”

Every game of conversational chess was won by Mona with that single statement. She looked absolutely elated, her excitement rivaling Rainbow Dash or someone who finally wrote the proper year of the date on a form in mid-February without making any mistakes.

“Well, what are your friends like?” Mona prompted, once again shifting tones to ask a serious question. She was like a chameleon, changing in an instant. It was terrifying.

“I don’t have too many. I talk to the people I work with and they’re all nice. Responsible and sensible, which is great for business or life advice. I need more of that than I would care to admit. I mostly talk to clients. Or colleagues. I guess they’re friends.”

Mona looked at Shai. It wasn’t in a sad way, nor a pitying way, and not even in a mocking way. There was no expression. Then another smile.

“I don’t have many friends either. But I don’t think I’m lonely. I just enjoy the peace.”

“Me too, I think.”

Shai considered divulging all of her secrets then and there to someone who could listen and would never see her again after tomorrow but decided she didn’t need to share more. She returned to her work instead. She moved the bag back in front of her body. She felt like a kangaroo mother with a pouch full of strawberry babies. 

The notion briefly crossed her mind that she would never again feel like a marsupial strawberry mother. The prospect made her slightly sorrowful. 

The two continued to sift through plants in silence. They were fully engrossed in their work. Occasionally, Mona would say a muttered “fuck” or “I raised you” when she dropped a berry or two. It was nice to know that experts still messed up. Sometimes, she hummed a nameless tune.

However, Mona’s accidents didn’t quite compare to Shai’s mistake. Strawberry matter spread across the floor like the remnants of a massacre. How she had managed to drop and crush what looked like thirty strawberries, she was not sure. She didn’t say anything. She could tell Mona later.

\-----

Two hours passed as slowly as a tortoise-sloth crawling across an icy surface. 

There is an old Japanese proverb that says, “He who would climb a ladder must begin at the bottom.” The saying holds true for all things: athletics, art, the pebbled path to victory, and more. Perhaps most importantly it is applicable to the cavernous space in the depths of one’s stomach.

Hunger was the word for it. With each iteration of her action, each shift of her torso, she could feel her body craving sustenance. Without it, her endurance would be pushed to the brink, about to step off a cliff toward a gruesome end.

Shai stopped plucking and slumped her shoulders, looking around for something to stuff in her mouth as her carnal desires overtook her physical form and forced her to act against her will in favor of savage pursuits. Then, she remembered what she brought with her into the green haven.

She pulled the melted granola bar out of her pocket. She felt the mass move under the thin wrapper, squishing and squelching around a firm bar of what could only be assorted grains packed together. With fear trickling from her head to her feet, fear of messes and the inability to consume the only available food around her, Shai peeled back the wrapper and looked beyond its silvery sheen.

“Mona, are you hungry?”

“Always,” Mona responded in a besotted voice.

“I hope it’s alright that I brought this in here. Have a piece.” Shai broke the melted bar in half and handed one of the even pieces to Mona. Her fingers now matched the dirt that she had been surrounded by for so long.

“I’m more thankful than I am concerned,” Mona responded, accepting the snack with eager fingers. They took simultaneous bites, in perfect synch as if they were dancing. “It doesn’t have the terroir that any of my normal food has, but I wouldn’t discount it at all. It serves its purpose.”

“I’m not sure I see what you mean,” Shai jested. “It embraces the full concept of terroir. The flavor is distinct and specific to its regionality. You can taste the factory. I almost feel like I’m there, breathing in that metallic air. It’s amazingly refreshing.”

“You’re right. I can’t believe I ever doubted you. To think I ever thought I was the food expert. I should quit the industry now and adjust to my new life as a drifter with no clear direction. Would you mind taking over the farm?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all.” Smiles passed between the two, running along parallel sides of the road and waving when they crossed the same point. 

When the food was gone and the trash was neatly wadded and stuffed back into Shai’s pocket, Shai praying that it would not spread across the fabric of her clothes and stain a decent pair of shorts with a dubious brown coating, the two returned to work. Dirt and chocolate hands mixed into a congealed mess that brought Shai back to elementary school. Back to being nonchalant and open. Not just with elbow room, but with knee room and space for every joint.

\-----

With heavy legs and tingling wrists, Shai and Mona decided that, after leaving the greenhouse, the best use of time with the light that still remained in the sky would be to go for a bike ride. Why not? 

The heat would be of no consequence when the wind streamed past a soaring body.

Shai never questioned why Mona had two bikes when she lived alone. She still refused to acknowledge the peculiarity of an organized room for stay with no one to occupy it aside from stray wanderers or the animals in the area. The reasons didn’t matter. All that mattered was that things were the way they were.

Biking on a mountain proved to be more difficult than Shai had anticipated. Whether it was pride, arrogance, or a gap (a ravine) in her understanding of the surrounding terrain, Shai was ill-prepared for the pain that she would endure on the seemingly indefinite Tour de Mona. And Shai was never not ready.

The sights helped to calm the hurricane that pounded at her thighs. While riding and staring, mouth agape, Shai wondered for a moment if she would swallow even more insects than she already had over the course of her stay. In a few days, she had swallowed more than enough insects to maintain a steady level of protein and to feel content for a lifetime. Deciding to take the wild approach and enjoy herself for once instead of stirring a corroded pot, Shai shrugged it off to have a good time. The terror would not crush her spirits; if it tried, the combination of prickling muscles and emotional agony would drag her to the ground in a grandiose collapse as the bike crushed her legs. The drama of the scene would be exquisite and exciting to watch, but becoming the victim of that fate could not be possible. That would not be her destiny. Not today.

With the mountain once again posing around her--enough to make her feel small and insignificant--Shai breathed. She trained her mind to appreciate the freedom with a preliminary breathing exercise. Now, her activity prompted independent breathing and exercise. The two processes had their couple status tragically revoked.

She felt alive, as though her being before was a doll or a drawing but it was now given a soul. A soul that wanted to rest but wanted to keep pedaling to stay caught up with Mona and to see more. She inhaled air that filled her lungs with light. Every breath before was practice, a mimicry of observation from years of ancestral existence and the need for oxygen. This was her first breath of life. Collapsed lungs were revived with a jarring stab and a cry to the sky and to the ground, whichever would receive her message first.

Riding behind to follow the path Mona knew well and led her down, Shai looked at Mona. She noticed the way Mona tended to ride with one hand, her left hand, steering the handlebar while the other moved freely. She noticed the way Mona would slightly wiggle her body side to side as she rode like a dancing figure on a truck dashboard. She noticed the way that Mona rode on the wind, not against it, even when she was clearly riding into it. That wasn’t fair. Here Shai was, struggling with every downward push, when another human five meters ahead was being carried by the hands of an unseen wind spirit.

Mona looked powerful, shaping things around her and bending the world to her will. She had her own center of gravity stationed right at her core. Shai couldn’t decide if she wanted to exist around her or to be her.

Later, she would consider it further, she decided. For now, she needed to focus on getting home safely and with every limb attached and intact.

\-----

For the second night in a row, Mona and Shai found themselves together in Mona’s humble dwellings. This evening, Shai was drunk with pleasure, not with the toxic allure of spirits. It felt much less dizzying than alcohol.

Mona danced in the spotlight of an Edison bulb lamp. An oscillating conversation of back and forth tennis whacks culminated in rough attempts at performances of iconic scenes from film, theater, and music. Soft jazz in the background roused Mona’s passion, revealing a new side of her personality. Her rhizome still plunged into soil fertilized with free-spiritedness, but this aspect was heightened by her gracious audience, exciting ambiance, and fulfilling undertone.

When the blue moon decides to leave its cramped city apartment for a night on the town, standing under a streetlight visible to bus passengers and dog walkers, Shai smiles. A real, bonafide smile. Shai realized that she has thought of and said the word smile so many times this weekend like some sort of third-person omniscient writer that has taken a liking to a particular phrase but she doesn’t care because it’s accurate and it’s nice. Her lips curled, turning toward the sky to meet the blue moon halfway.

As her modern interpretive dance concluded, Mona’s light burned brighter and her cheeks pinker. Gazing at Shai’s eyes and into her soul, Mona’s eyebrows raised to accommodate the excitement that bubbled away inside. “I want to be Bumblebee. From the Transformers. I don’t really like bees, but he’s cuter than Optimus Prime.”

To Shai, Mona’s will to become Bumblebee was fitting. Mona was bright and bubbly, but she was also fierce. From what she had seen, anyway. The Rayleigh effect of her burning sun left everything around her scattered and buzzing. Who knew the center of the solar system could be so close within reach. One hand extended out to grace the surface with sweaty fingertips.

Shai buckled down internally and stood up externally, ready to help. “This is something I can do. Do you have anything yellow?”

“Let me think. I don’t have any yellow clothes because it washes out my skin, but I do have one idea.” She ran out of the room in the direction of the kitchen, returning moments later with a stack of sunflower yellow towels. “These are perfect.” Shai couldn’t agree more.

Strips of duct tape loosely bound the towels to her clothes, providing an additional layer of insulation that doubled as false muscles. If someone knew what they were looking for, and Shai questioned if anyone really knew what they were looking for, then it was beyond obvious that Mona was cosplaying as Bumblebee. The true star of the Transformers cartoons and films.

Shai returned to the couch to bask in the glory of her handiwork.

Mona stood proudly, looking into the distance with one arm raised to conduct an orchestra or lead an army, whichever suited her mood. “To be or not to be, that is the question.”

Shai, 28, confused, prodded at Mona’s logic. “Is that a quote from Transformers? I didn’t know Mr. Shakespeare was on the writing staff for that film, but it makes sense given the fantastic quality of the film dialogue.”

“It really is a shame that you know so little about the performing arts.” 

“I would be more ashamed about my lack of knowledge, but it’s hard to feel embarrassed when you don’t have any dignity.”

“Fair point,” Mona agreed. She continued her monologue. “Whether ‘tis nobler to suffer the slings of arrows or...or...kill a man?” She forced out the last few words like the last bit of toothpaste in a tube: with too much effort and too little result.

“So you don’t remember the whole thing. I see. If it’s any consolation, I don’t know it either and I was an English major.”

“I may not always be eloquent, but I am never speechless. What I said is close enough, I’m sure. I’m proud of my performance, even if it didn’t conclude as it should have.” Shai couldn’t argue with any of the points that were made. Maybe the points were made with diamonds. Unmalleable, unmorphable diamond.

“It was a stellar performance. The crowd is eating it up.” 

“Thank you, thank you.” Mona gave an exaggerated curtsy, nearly falling to the ground in the process. Jumping up in a reactionary leap to catch her, Shai bumped the coffee table and sent a vase of flowers flying onto the ground. Water mixed with shards of glass and peony petals poured everywhere. 

Water was the enemy. That was the only explanation for this happening twice.

An exact copy of the last time this happened--control c, control v--Shai froze in place and stared at the carnage before her. The flowers were already dead, but they died again at the hands of an agent of chaos. She could be certified and given a badge for it. A real title. FBI Agent, Secret Agent, and the Agent of Chaos.

Was it another sign? Was Shai doomed forever? What did this omen mean? What was the world trying to tell her through these catastrophes? The operatic symphony of the heavens provided no answers.

“I am so unbelievably sorry. Here, let me help.” Shai knew her words could not express all of the regret and apology she felt, but it was a start. Her actions would have to align with her promise.

“I’ll go grab some things to help clean up and I’ll be right back. Use these for now.”

Mona, liberated from doubt and irritation, moved into action immediately. She ripped the towels off her body and tossed them over the broken pile of heterogeneous mixture before running to the laundry room to grab more supplies. She walked back into the den with a broom, a dustpan, and a few more towels. 

In eight minutes and forty-three seconds, although they would never know that, Shai and Mona had the whole thing cleaned up. The room was exactly as it had been before with the exception of one missing vase of flowers. That was a minor detail.

“I really can’t say how sorry I am. I hope I didn’t ruin your floor. Or your towels. Or your table. I would mention the vase as well, but I think that is already beyond repair.”

“I know it was an accident. There is no need to apologize, but if it makes you feel better, I forgive you. It was an old, dirty vase anyway, so you might have done me a favor by pushing me to get rid of it, although I must admit that it is not leaving the house in the way I originally thought it might.” Mona’s positive response relieved Shai a bit. “Plus, the intensity as the vase crashed to the ground created the perfect dramatic ending to my scene. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect set-up and execution.”

“You’re welcome. Next time you need something broken for dramatic effect, just give me a call,” Shai teased back. 

“I’m going to hold you to that.” She wouldn’t really be holding anything to anything in a literal sense, but accountability is always important. Shai understood.

“I should probably go to my room. It’s been a long day and I haven’t exactly slept much. Thanks for the hospitality and all.”

“No problem. It’s nice to have another being in the house that isn’t a mosquito or, even worse, a cockroach.” Mona walked Shai to the backdoor and flicked on the lights on the patio to help Shai find her way back to her shed. Shai’s internal homing device was defective, even with the light on, so any advantage was appreciated. Mona waved goodbye while rubbing her eye and offered a tired little smile as Shai stepped outside. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess,” Shai said.

“Goodnight. See you tomorrow.” Mona pivoted and retreated inside, flicking off the kitchen light as she ventured further into her home and to her room.

Then Shai went back to her room. Then she threw on her pajamas. Then she brushed her teeth. Then she cringed at what she had just done. Finally, when she mustered the courage to forgive herself and tried her best to move on, she breathed. The fat-soluble tension was gradually being released.

It was time to go to bed. Shai’s heart longed to be near a cushioned cot, nestled among pillows, flesh, and blankets. Starved for water, an oasis of sleep awaited her. Finally. Shai had never felt more ready for anything. Not even to catch her car keys after calling out to her coworker to “toss them, I’m open” when they were left on the desk. Until tomorrow…

\-----

Shai woke up to rain. A steady pitter-patter and gray skies.

Shai loved everything about rain. The reverie and tranquility, the smell that permeated the air before, during, and after. 

Today was the day. Shai was leaving. How bittersweet. By conventional standards, the weather outside matched her mood inside. Like a sad turtle. However, the way rain always made her heart flutter juxtaposed her current feelings.

She opened the door and looked down. She was mildly disappointed to see that there was no food. Not this morning.

Instead of traveling inside for breakfast, Shai resorted to eating one of the protein bars she found stuffed in the bottom of her bag. Do those things ever expire? Who knows. No one. Not even protein bar experts.

After heaving everything out of her bag, Shai shifted gears and began packing. She folded everything with meticulous focus, making sure to press out creases and tuck in excess fabric. Her clothes would be packed much more neatly on the journey home. Half of her intention was to waste time, to stay as long as possible. Home would still be there, the same as it was. Life, the same as it was. Here, things were interesting. They were different.

Was the trip futile? Shai had no new ideas and didn’t write a single word of value the entire time she was gone. It didn’t qualify as a waste, but it wasn’t productive either. What does it mean to be productive? Would she return home a new person, or would she be more frustrated than ever? She forced the thoughts out of her head with a shake. When she finished placing all of her items into her two bags, she grabbed the keys to the shed and set off toward the main house.

\-----

Inside Mona’s house, which she entered from the famed backdoor, Shai found Mona holding a spatula and preparing a pan of scrambled eggs. So this is when she has time to cook. A pleasant sight to behold.

Mona acknowledged Shai's presence in the room with a resounding Hello. Shai offered a meek hello back. 

“Do you want any? I prepared five, so there’s plenty if you want some. Leftover eggs aren’t any good anyway.”

Shai could eat; she was feeling famished after hours of sleeping. “Sure.”

Sitting at the breakfast table together, Shai and Mona ate with the sounds of insects--cicadas--quietly ricocheting around them in a dull hum. The eggs were fluffy and mildly salty. The perfect way to serve scrambled eggs. A piece of toast would have been nice as well, but Shai had no room to complain. She couldn’t even stretch her legs to provide constructive criticism, not that she had any. Only gratitude. “Thanks for the food. It’s really good, like everything else you’ve given me.”

Mona smiled, cheeks full of egg and more waiting on her fork. “You’re welcome.”

“So...I’m leaving today.” Shai struggled to broach the subject, though it was an inevitability. Clear and factual. It was not something out of the ordinary or especially difficult to discuss.

“I assumed as much from the bags sitting on the floor in the side room.” She nudged her head in the general direction, indicating her awareness of their presence. “Three days is a short trip, but as long as you got what you want out of it then there’s nothing to worry about.”

Shai entered the threshold of panic. Had she gotten what she wanted out of it? She tried to wave the thought away once again. On her own, she could avoid it, but here, in front of another person with the added stress of responding, Shai couldn’t. 

“Yeah, definitely.”

“So, did you? Did you achieve what you hoped you would?”

Did she?

“Yes, I think so. I got to meet you, which was nice.”

Mona smiled again. It almost seemed like a nervous twitch, the way she always smiled no matter the situation, but Mona exuded confidence. It was her innate nature to smile. “It was nice to meet you, too.” She paused thoughtfully. “Actually, you were troublesome at first and very needy, but I think we’re good friends now, right?”

Shai chuckled. “Sure, yeah. Of course.”

One time, during a late-night video binge, Shai heard a guy say (in reference to an improvisation course), “I’ve met the most insufferable people, but they’ve also met me.” Shai understood this on an inhuman level. Her awareness of what this felt like was astronomical, almost alien. She thought of this now.

Shai decided it was her turn to try the honest pants on for size. They might require some tailoring and fine adjustments, but it was good to see what they looked like on her long, slender legs. One must always be open to trying new things in fashion. 

“You’re really honest, you know? Almost painfully so.”

“I am going to accept that as a compliment because I prefer it that way.”

“Sure whatever you want.” The banter was easy and the sun that shone through the window was warm. Everything was...right.

Mona piped up. Not with a pipe, nor did she get up, but she said, “I’m only as good at reading the room as a delirious old man with a metal detector trapped in a cloud of cotton candy, but you have good vibes. That much I know for sure.”

Wow, that made no sense. How does someone even come up with that on the back of the whimsical, invisible fly? Was it premeditated? It didn’t really matter; it was just interesting. 

The meal came to a close and the two stood up in perfect synchronization.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yes, until next time.” As Mona said it, she opened her arms to invite an embrace. A kind farewell. Shai accepted without skimping on the self-consciousness. 

“Uh, yeah. Next time I have a free weekend I’ll be on my way. Haha, yep. Sure thing.” Shai spoke as if she were reading off a page. A page that was jammed in a printer. A transcript of a frightened, confused employee. She talked as if by proxy; someone else spoke for her, filling her body with a foreign voice. A mess. Mona didn’t mind.

“I should get started with work today. There’s always lots to do. But I do expect you’ll be back, eventually.”

“Sure.” Shai smiled.

She walked out to her car, tossed her bags in, started the engine, and was on her way home. She saw the same sights, the same stops and gas stations, but in reverse. A backward think with as much enrichment as before.

\-----

Shai arrived at home more carved out than she had ever been. Her butt was numb and her neck tired from holding the weight of her head all day. 

There was a pile (more like an iceberg that you uncover the mass of the more you explore it) of things she needed to do, things she could do. She needed to do laundry, which she did. She needed to see what was in her refrigerator that might start attaching itself to the plastic surface and becoming a permanent resident if she didn’t do something soon; she addressed that the next day. She needed to put away all of the things that she had brought but didn’t use. In five minutes, that was done.

She could write. She could, but she didn’t. There would be time later, more ideas to scrawl onto a sheet and develop into full prose. Later. For now, it was time to process and to relax. Finally.

First, Shai filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove on high heat. Then, she went to the cabinet and selected a plain white mug and chamomile tea to fill it. Next, she waited for the water to boil. And waited. And waited. When the kettle began to scream it’s mandrake's cry, high-pitched and train-like, she filled her mug with water and set the tea bag inside. She stopped by the fridge to grab a plate of fries left over from Thursday's dinner. Then, she went to the couch, set down the plate of fries on the cushions, grabbed a remote, and turned on the television as she sat down like an expert multitasker. She had learned from her mistakes and didn’t spill a single drop this time.

Finally, as the moon showed up for its graveyard shift, Shai turned on a movie, something about chefs in a competitive kitchen. She sipped her tea and ate her french fries with a fork she pulled out of her pocket. On the couch at home. At peace with the mechanisms and systems that were larger and more grandeur than herself. Just fine.

\-----

Two years later...

From a speaker in the corner of the room, Mariah Carey serenades Shai with sounds of joy and intense vibrato. Tinsel-lined curtain rods and a small glowing tree join in the festivities. 

From her vantage point in the sky, three stories above ground level, Shai looks across the street to the empty, snow-covered park, then the convenience store that rarely saw customers due to the cold they would have to endure to reach it, and, as last, the luxury haberdashery. Beyond the doors, lights twinkled and complimentary hot cocoa was distributed amongst customers and bystanders. 

Shai thinks to herself about the way her apartment must look to others on the outside. For all the public knows, Shai could have constructed a Jurrasic wonderland that is concealed by white curtains. Or it could be another cookie-cutter copy of every other apartment during the holiday season. The magic of privacy is that nobody gets to have any confirmation beyond imagination.

Looking at the things on her kitchen table--a laptop open to a google doc with many sentences on it (sentences that are part of a relatively decent story), a succulent (alive and thriving, even after three months), and an unopened envelope--Shai reads the address on the piece of mail she left there. From Ms. Ocampo. Mona Ocampo. 

Immediately, Shai rips the envelope open. Inside she finds a Christmas card from Mona: a picture of Mona holding a box of strawberries like a baby with the caption “Merry Christmas from Mona and Family.” Exactly the same as last year, just newer. Shai giggles and covers the old one, still on the front of her fridge, with the current model.

As usual, hunger is a close friend of Shai’s. Dinner time. She steps into the kitchen to begin cooking. Homemade curry. If the washing machine of life had taught her anything, it was that making food yourself felt rewarding and fulfilling in indescribable ways. And Shai has learned a lot. From everything. Time does that to a person.

Shai also realizes that getting old is a modern privilege. She may not know what her (presumably long) future will be like, but the only responsibility that old people really have is to not be annoying. She can manage that much. The rest will fall into place, one sentence and one meal at a time.

At the instant she finishes chopping onions and adding them to her already hot pan, Shai receives a phone call. She picks it up immediately, smiling to herself as she sees that name that flashed across the screen.

“Shai here!”

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah. that was that. thanks for sticking through to the end. you're pretty cool for that.


End file.
